Fanjeaux

This morning Angela's nose resembled that of a certain fictional reindeer who only works once a year. Despite applying sun screen when we went out cycling yesterday, it did not protect her from the strong breeze. We needed to leave relatively early this morning, as we planned to drive for a few miles to make an inroad into our return journey. Originally we had planned to cross Spain to San Sebastian but rain was forecast. The other option was to retrace our steps back towards Carcassonne, but strong winds were forecast. The wind won. Before leaving we took one last walk in to town to buy our lunch.

As we drove out of L'Estartit we wondered if we would return. Hopefully. But with so many places on our list to visit we're not sure.

As we approached the border with France just north of La Jonquera there was just us and a Spanish courier van to cross so we expected to be stopped. But no. Just a curious glance from the border policeman. Underwear drying on the dashboard works every time. We nodded to the baffled policeman and crossed into France. Bon retour en France Marge. The onward drive towards Perpignan was difficult. The wind buffeting Marge from every angle. There were no 'ladies in waiting' present alongside the road. We couldn't blame them, who wants to be out in the middle of nowhere skimpily dressed with a chill wind blowing.

After driving for nearly five hours we arrived at the small hilltop town of Fanjeaux. As we crested the hill Marge almost coughed her last, she'd had a headwind all the way up the 16% gradient. After a much needed mug of coffee we wrapped ourselves up against the persistent wind in coats, hats, scarves and gloves and took a walk around the medieval town. Yesterday we'd been wearing shorts. What a difference a day makes.

There were lots of photo opportunities and we found the quiet, almost lost in time town interesting. We were fascinated by the exteriors of some of the habited buildings. Rocks, bricks and pieces of wood with no rendering to cover it. How warm was it inside these houses?

The wind is set to blow strongly through the night so Marge will be rocking which we're not too keen on. But hey, it's all part of the trip. As we approached Perpignan two vans from Finland drove past us at speed. The second one had these words emblazoned across the back. Life is now. There is no later! We agree one hundred percent don't we Marge?

L'Estartit (Day 4)

You wont forget, will you? Hopefully not Marge. Every morning John sprays his deodorant and shortly afterwards Angela lights the gas to boil the water for the morning coffee. So, she has to make sure the van is well ventilated before she does it otherwise it will be 'goodnight, Vienna' as the saying goes. 

Chores out the way we cycled in to town to buy provisions for lunch and to visit the tourist office to pick up a cycling map for the area. We chose the ten-mile circular route which would take us to Torroella de Montgri alongside the Baix Ter Natural Park. The cycle out took us along country lanes passing small farmhouses the colour of the arid ground they sat upon.

Vegetables grew in the parched sandy soil alongside apple trees heavy with blossom.

High on the hilltop overlooking the town sits the thirteenth century castle. We arrived at Torroella de Montgri just as the morning church service ended. We were surprised at just how large the congregation was. As they left the church, many people were carrying fragrant sprigs of bay leaves as part of the holy week Easter celebrations. 

We found a place to sit in the main square by the town hall and ate our lunch whilst admiring the architecture that surrounded us. Architecture that we imagined the local residents probably didn't give a second glance at.

Just around the corner from the square we stopped to look at the window display of Easter chocolate and cakes in a pastisseria. The shop now closed for the day, we could see a table had been set up inside with twelve place settings ready for a family lunch. Conscious we may be intruding we spent less time than we wanted looking at the fascinating and beautiful creations. 

Our ride back to L'Estartit took us along the river Ter. An annoying head wind hampered our progress. The same wind forced its way through the reeds along the river bank causing them to struggle to remain upright.

Eventually we arrived at the coast, the breeze still brisk we stopped a while to watch the wind ruffle the waters of the lagoon that sat behind the white sands of the beach. Reluctant to return to the campsite as this way our last day here we rode down to the marina and sat outside a cafe.

Angela's coffee arrived with a miniature muffin, which was very nice but a full size one to match the size of her mug of coffee would have been nicer. 

The weather today has been lovely, despite the wind. Our faces red from wind burn we returned to the campsite where we found a very sad Marge. No Marge, we're not happy either about the new neighbours, their dog, and their badly behaved children. So Angela went to the reception, paid the bill for our four nights stay and asked if we could move as it was very windy up at our end of the site. Which it was. Tact, Marge. Tact.

We have enjoyed our time at L'Estartit, as we have every time we've been here. Tomorrow we will begin our return journey back into France, as the weather forecast there is looking a lot better than northern Spain. We know the next few days will pass quickly, and intend to make the most of everyday. Just two more weeks and we will be at Cherbourg ready to catch our sailing back to England.

L'Estartit (Day 3)

As we lay in bed this morning with our sliding roof window open we could see the trees at the top of the hill waving to us. We watched the barely risen sun, as it was captured by the moving clouds. Rain was forecast for nine o'clock, but it didn't materialise. Everywhere here is very dry, and local people have told us they have had very little rain over the winter, just cold air coming from the Pyrenees. The nights are certainly warmer, but John has taken rather a liking to our over blanket, or 'the fluffy' as he likes to call it, so we take it to bed with us to keep him cosy. 

In no rush we planned our day. John's knee was playing up after our walk yesterday so we decided to take it a little easier today cancelling our cycling trip. There is a shop in the town called Monica run by an English lady and her Spanish husband. They have been trading since 1969, and when we visited L'Estartit last time we bought some pottery from the shop. Keen to buy some more items we walked down to take a look and spent some time talking to the owners and deciding what to buy. Their stock was slightly limited as they were unsure how much to carry in these uncertain times, but Angela chose a couple of items that would look nice in our newly painted orange kitchen. 

Around lunchtime, there was a flurry of new arrivals at the campsite. A French van, which isolated itself at the far bottom of the site, German, Spanish, Dutch and even a van from Luxembourg. Marge, still has her own exclusive V.I.P. area.

We decided to take an afternoon walk along the beach. The view towards the Ile Medes beautiful. The Mediterranean sea, with its characteristic green colour rolled on to the shore chased by a north westerly wind. We found a seat that was sheltered a little from the breeze and ate our snacks.

John's empanada a rather disturbing radioactive looking orange tasted a whole lot nicer than it looked, and Angela's glazed apple tart was delish. One of the best. And she should know. She's eaten an awful lot of them.

Back at Marge, despite the cooler weather we were able to sit outside. Who ordered and 'English'? Was it you Marge? We expected better weather than this, after all we were in Spain. It had been 19c today. We'll take that. In fact we find anything over 16c summer like.

Tonight was pizza night. John had worked out that we could convert our outside grill to act as a pizza oven. At Carcassonne he'd had success. On our first night at L'Estartit we had a disaster. Working out we needed a really thin based pizza for the experiment to work, we were please to find exactly what we were looking for in the local supermarket. And hey presto, result! As we savoured the delights of our success, we could hear the birds singing in the nearby trees. Or were they on the cadge. No chance with you two, I bet you'll eat every crumb. You're right their Marge.

Tomorrow we must decide which route we will take to return back into France. We have two weeks of our holiday left and want to use it wisely, meaning we don't want to be driving each day for hours and hours. I'll agree with that. We thought you might Marge.